


Maudlin / Lovers

by minxiebutt



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, Groping, Public Display of Affection, Queerplatonic Relationships, Sharing a Bed, SnK Minibang 2016, Snk MiniBang, just a couple of extreme "gal pals" hahaha, public fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7905439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minxiebutt/pseuds/minxiebutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night of booze, flirting, public displays of affection that borderline public indecency, and confessions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maudlin / Lovers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Coco_c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coco_c/gifts).



> Too much Iliza Shlesinger on the brain. Also, I saw Krista/Historia referred to as “Kristoria” somewhere and I’ve been dying to use it.

Mikasa would follow Sasha to the ends of the Earth. She really would. 

 

Initially, she thought it was the deep bond of friendship that shaped their relationship, but she was finding out the hard way that so-called  _ girl crushes  _ weren't a trivial part of a heterosexual appetite.

 

After their high school graduation, Sasha had announced that she was moving out and needed a roommate, and Mikasa left her parents’ house to join her. The two of them crammed their stuff into a shitty, one-bedroom apartment because that’s all they could afford, and because that landlord was the only one willing to take a gamble on two college freshmen who had weaseled their way out of the mandatory dorm assignments. 

 

The pair share the single bedroom and Sasha’s queen sized mattress where it sits on the box spring on the floor. They wash dishes at the same snobby restaurant (to pay the rent, Sasha says, not just because the manager lets her take home extra food), and make sure to get the same shifts so that they didn’t have to walk alone. 

 

They’ve been best friends since junior high. She liked Sasha’s personality instantly when they met. The girl was bubbly and unreserved, and it balanced out Mikasa’s reclusiveness in a way that she preferred over Eren’s angry ferocity. And Eren had his own counterbalance in Armin anyway-- quiet and intellectual Armin, who looked at the Jaeger boy with an expression that, at thirteen years old, Mikasa wouldn’t understand for several years. 

 

The photo album in her old room at her parents’ house is full of her and Sasha. Pictures of them, all dressed up and going to school dances together exist there. So do the dried corsages that Mikasa saved, all tucked reverently in a shoebox with layers of tissue paper to protect them. Also in that shoebox are little tokens, trinkets, and movie ticket stubs, pieces of evidence from the years she and Sasha spent growing into awkward adolescence. Mikasa hasn't looked through that box in a year, not since the corsage from senior prom joined its comrades in nostalgia, and Mikasa has a few things to add when she visits home in two months.

 

Of course, going home would mean a few days without Sasha by her side at night, something that she had grown dependent on.

 

At first, when they started sharing the queen-sized mattress, they slept with heads at opposite ends. One black eye later (thanks to Mikasa), they decided that it was probably better to simply take opposite sides with pillows in the center. Somehow, those pillows gradually migrated back to the head of the bed, and Sasha and Mikasa met in the middle, instead.

 

Sasha didn’t like to be the only one awake in the apartment, so she always climbed in bed first. Their attire had started off thick: pajama pants with shorts underneath and sweatshirts because they had taken off their bras. Fewer and fewer layers of clothing came into bed over the first few weeks, until one October night Mikasa pulled back the covers on a dozing Sasha and discovered that the other girl was clad in only a camisole and panties. Mikasa, who slept in the nude before moving in with Sasha, didn’t mind matching the level of undress, and made sure to keep a crease of the comforter between them that first night. By the night after next, the extra crease was gone, and it never came back. 

 

Mikasa supposes this is why her mother never slept well when her father was away on business. It only took her a few weeks to grow accustomed to having Sasha beside her, snuggling neatly into her side. Having a warm body to wrap her arms around and drape one of her legs over is a nice way to fall asleep; there is something about the skin-on-skin contact that helps her to sleep soundly no matter how stressed she is. It seems to work equally well for Sasha, and hopefully a week out of routine doesn't throw off their sleep schedule too much.

 

She isn’t really surprised that they’ve ended up here, at the end of their freshmen year, sharing that same shitty one-bedroom flat with one bed, and Sasha proposing something as ridiculous as this. It just…  _ fits. _

 

“Please, Mika!” Sasha clasps her hands in front of her and pulls her face into a puppy dog pout. “You're the only girl I feel comfortable doing this with!”

 

Mikasa pulls the headphones from her ears and unstraps the ipod from her upper arm. She’s barely been back for two minutes, and she’s got enough new giddiness in her gut to make her run another five miles. “Who told you about this?”

 

“Ymir did! She was out with Kristoria, and these guys bought them like five beers!” Sasha’s eyes are glimmering with dreams of endless pints. She’d be a frequent drinker if they could afford it. Having twenty dollars in your pocket feels much different when you live on your own than when you live with your parents. Before, they had no problem sneaking off and flashing fake IDs to spend their allowance on beer. It wasn’t an option anymore, and the parties wouldn’t start rolling through campus until finals were over.  

 

“I think those two are much more convincing than we could be.” Mikasa brushes past Sasha and tosses her ipod on the bed. She lets her hair down from the ponytail and shakes it out, grimacing at the feel of grease on her scalp. She calls over her shoulder, “It’s Tuesday, anyway. The real pervs won’t be out until this weekend.”

 

“Let’s go Friday, then. After work. Please!”

 

“Why don’t you just go with Ymir and Kristoria next time? I’m sure a hot, lesbian three-way make-out will get you free drinks up to your eyeballs.” They share classes, and a bed, and a tiny apartment, but they’ve never shared spit. It’s not like Mikasa hasn’t thought about it plenty of times-- she’s just reluctant to allow herself to be fetishised and to let guys buy her alcohol. But... this close to the end of the semester, she’s broke enough to  _ maybe _ need to consider Sasha’s offer if she wants some booze. 

 

“They don’t make out at the bar for the free drinks. They’re minding their own business and the drinks come to them.” Sasha reaches out and tugs on the hem of her roommate’s shirt, pleading, “I haven’t been out to the bar since midterms!”

 

“That was only three weeks ago,” Mikasa chides. She tugs her shirt from Sasha’s grasp and pulls it over her head before tossing it into the overflowing hamper in the corner. They  _ need _ to do laundry tonight; that was her second-to-last shirt. The weather is still cool, and there’s a lull in coursework, so Mikasa is working out much more often. She doesn’t have long before that’ll stop again, though. The blistering Texas heat halts even her fitness enthusiasm, reducing her to a couch potato, intent on staying indoors and in the air conditioning. That’s the one good thing this shitty apartment has: an in-window air conditioner unit. Yes, it’s clunky, and loud, and it spits out cool air in  _ only _ the living room, but it’s better than constantly living in one-hundred degrees. 

 

Sasha must notice Mikasa’s mental note concerning their pile of dirty clothing, because she smirks as if a lightbulb has gone off in her head. She stands up proudly, and puts her hands on her hips. “Go with me, and I’ll do the laundry for a month.”

 

Mikasa narrows her eyes. Sneaky. Sasha knows that’s the only chore she procrastinates on. She’ll get to the last clean shirt in her dresser and wear it for three days rather than wash, dry, and fold a couple loads of laundry. But the Ackerman girl isn’t going to give in so easily. She’s got to at least  _ try _ to play hard to get. “Really, Sasha, I’ve got better things to do than pretend to lez out for booze. Have you seen the length of my Netflix queue?”

 

Who was she kidding? There would be no pretending; she’d make out with Sasha for a broken button. It was the idea of doing it for the first time, in public, under the pretense of drunken, meaningless fun, that she wasn’t comfortable with. She’s been looking at the curves of Sasha’s body for a little while now. For just a moment, she’s distracted by the thought of running her hands over those hips--

 

“We don’t have to be out long. I’ll guzzle whatever drinks are sent to us, and we can be back here in an hour.” Sasha resumes her pleading pose, with her hands clasped in front of her and her face scrunched in a pout. Her bottom lip sticks out, and Mikasa stares at it for probably too long. “Laundry for a month, Mika! A month!”

 

Clean clothes in exchange for an hour of lip-locking with the girl she’s secretly harbouring fantasies for… This is tragically win-win, so Mikasa throws her ‘hard-to-get’ façade out like yesterday’s garbage. Feigning surrender, she huffs, “Fine. We’ll go Friday.”

 

Sasha just about jumps through the roof. There’s going to be a note on their door from the neighbour below them later, she just knows it. The brunette bounces around in victory, oblivious to the creaking of the floorboards and the pounding of a broom from the tenant below.

 

“Thank you, thank you!” She repeats, on cloud nine. 

 

;;;

 

Mikasa spends all of Wednesday like a miserable old man. They don’t have classes, so she huddles up on the couch with the air conditioner blasting, watching trashy reality television on her phone with her headphones in so that she doesn’t have to talk to Sasha. Maybe she’ll develop a blood clot and a piece will lodge in her lung and kill her so she doesn’t have to go out on Friday….

 

Thursday, on their way to economics, Sasha spots a tenner in the grass by the smokers’ gazebo, and snatches it up eagerly. For lunch, she drags Mikasa to the Sonic Drive-In across the street from the social sciences building. The Braus girl orders a milkshake, and Mikasa orders tater tots, but they go cold while she watches Sasha try to suck her shake through the straw. Instead of waiting a few minutes for the midday heat to melt it, her cheeks are hollowed out and she’s trying her damnedest. The noirette can’t pull her gaze away from the sight of those lips puckered around that lucky straw, and her mind explodes with lewd images. A blush rises all the way up to ears, and she stuffs cold tater tots into her mouth to avoid saying anything stupid. 

 

By Friday afternoon, Mikasa is so distracted, hot, and bothered that she cuts herself on a knife at work. It’s not too deep, but it’s through the fat of her palm at the base of her thumb, so it bleeds freely for a few minutes until she applies enough pressure for it to cease. She’s glad Sasha was out clearing tables when it happened, so that she doesn’t have to explain how she didn’t see a steak knife sticking straight up in a cup. 

 

Mikasa’s apprehension and frustration is growing directly proportional to Sasha’s excitement. At the end of their shift, they twine arms and walk home in the dusk, but the smile on Sasha’s face is bright enough to light the way. On the other hand, Mikasa is ready to pretend she has a sudden case of the flu. Her stomach is churning so violently that she can probably throw up if she tries hard enough. 

 

They shower-- separately. Mikasa applies a heavy bandage to her cut, and Sasha lectures her on her appearance. They stand next to their closet in their underwear while the brunette digs through her dresses.

 

“You have to look  _ extra _ feminine tonight, or people are gonna assume you’re my boyfriend.” Sasha says it with disdain, because that would ruin her plan. Mikasa doesn’t look like a boy, with a soft face and large eyes. But her hair is short, and she’s muscular, so she’s going to let Sasha dress her. 

 

Sasha holds up a flowery chiffon shift against her frame. Mikasa looks down, mortified at the way it stops so far above her knees. She’s seen it on Sasha, and they’re similar in size, but on herself it looks so much more slutty. 

 

“Really?  _ This _ one?”

 

“Shush, Mikasa, your legs are killer.” Sasha tosses the chiffon minidress on their bed. The covers are still rumpled and turned back from this morning, and the garment pools in a crevice. She reaches back into the closet to pull out a pair of teeny-tiny denim shorts. “Besides, it’s not like I’m going to send you without pants.”

 

“Oh, thank you, great and  _ merciful _ one,” Mikasa mock praises, and throws herself on their bed facedown. The shorts smack her on the head, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. Sasha gets herself ready quickly before she fusses over her roommate, getting Mikasa gussied up enough to make this all worthwhile. Neither of them wear much makeup, so after just a smudge of eyeliner and mascara, they set off. 

 

They have five dollars and high hopes when they take adjacent seats at the bar. The Friday special is a margarita with cheap tequila for a dollar, so they order two. Mikasa sips hers nervously, slowly, her eyes skipping around the bar everywhere but Sasha. The brunette looks damn  _ fine _ in the pastel pink, rhinestone-smothered button up, her miles of legs on showcase thanks to daisy dukes and cowboy boots, so Mikasa purposefully avoids looking at her. Her gut is flopping around in her body like it needs a shot of methylphenidate. She taps her foot like a nervous wreck on the stool’s support to expend the excess energy, but it feels pointless. 

 

What she really needs is to finish her drink so that the alcohol can coat her brain and lessen her anxiety. Mikasa becomes a mellow, moldable girl under the influence. But every sip of the beverage makes her feel like she’s going to vomit, so the process is going to take longer than she wants.

 

Sasha, on the other hand, treats her margarita like a fucking tequila shot, but that’s because she’s been drinking since before she had a driver’s license. The country girl can drink men twice her size under the table and not even so much as stumble when she’s done. In a swift movement, she upends her glass and in four or five-- or maybe just two-- gulps, and she passes an empty vessel back to the bartender. How she’s not bent over with brainfreeze is the eighth wonder of the world.

 

Mikasa was successfully avoiding looking at her roommate, but now she’s staring dead at her. She takes a deep breath and an equally deep drink, and though it takes her longer to drain her glass due to her inexperience, she does eventually. When the oxygen hits her throat, though, she gags on the burn and coughs violently into the crook of her arm. It’s embarrassing, and Mikasa knows her ears are turning red from the attention she’s drawing. 

 

Sasha knows that eyes are turning in their direction and uses it to her advantage. One hand introduces itself to Mikasa’s back, running knuckles up her spine in comfort. It chokes Mikasa up worse, making her stiff and wide-eyed. 

 

“You okay?” Sasha asks, and Mikasa nods, giving one last half-hearted cough into her arm before she lowers it. She doesn’t dare look around again. Her little escapade sent a shudder of silence through all the patrons gathered in the bar in a way that she wants to forget. 

 

“Yeah,” she finally says, needing to clear her throat twice before she sounds like herself. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

 

“She’s never had tequila,” Sasha explains to the bartender. He’s a short, grumpy-looking man with dark hair and dark bags under his eyes, and he looks like he only cares if Mikasa is okay because the city will shut this place down if someone dies on the premises. 

 

“The cheap stuff isn’t where you wanna start,” he says, like he’s bored with explaining the same thing repeatedly to college girls like the two sat before him. He probably does this three dozen times a night on the weekends, now that Mikasa thinks about it. The bar is too close to campus not to attract hordes of students, especially with its frequent dollar specials. 

 

“I’ll remember that,” Mikasa says. She won’t. She doesn’t plan on letting Sasha drag her out like this ever again. Her stomach is absolutely tearing itself apart with nerves, and the flood of alcohol isn’t helping. Dammit, she should have just sipped it instead of trying to keep up with Sasha. They only brought five dollars after all. At most, that’s four margaritas, if they leave the change after the tax as an insulting tip for the bartender. 

 

Sasha’s hand that had been trailing her spine just moments prior spreads across the small of Mikasa’s back, making her sit up ramrod straight. It feels hot and foreign there, through the thin chiffon shift. In her peripherals, she can see Sasha giving someone across the room big eyes-- the same eyes she used to get Mikasa in this position. It’s a deadly trap: Sasha’s trump card, Sasha’s end all, Sasha’s royal flush. Whoever is on the receiving end of that expression is about to play right into her hand, and Mikasa’s stomach just about squeezes through her bellybutton. 

 

The whole point of this outing is to pretend to unleash ‘hidden sexual desires’ under intoxication. But for Mikasa, there’s nothing hidden about the way she fantasises about Sasha. It’s not something that needs an excuse to be unlocked, or an excuse to sweep under the rug in the morning. Sasha’s just doing this for the promise of free-flowing booze, Mikasa knows. Sasha will be the one brushing it off as nothing tomorrow. 

 

The knowledge doesn’t hurt Mikasa the way it’s been tormenting her for the last few days, and she has her first inkling that the alcohol is setting in. It’s only been a minute or two, but she didn’t eat before coming because of her nervousness. The cheap tequila is hitting an empty stomach and soaking right into her bloodstream-- as if Mikasa needed another factor added to her lightweight status. If she’s lucky, in ten minutes she will be the epitome of carefree, and just like the stranger currently in Sasha’s sights, she’ll be in the palm of Sasha’s hand, too. 

 

“Mikasa.” Sasha turns her gaze onto her bestfriend then. She looks like a predator cornering an easy prey, and Mikasa’s mouth waters. Sasha always gets what she wants. “Tug my hair.”

 

Usually, Sasha binds her long hair in a ponytail high on her head with her bangs loose on her forehead. Tonight, though, it’s down like a silky waterfall around her shoulders. Touching it, playing with it, is nothing new, but right now it feels like the first time all over again. Mikasa hooks her index finger around a small section, twirling it, and then pulls gently. Sasha’s mouth falls open, curved up in the corners, and then she swats Mikasa’s hand away with the very hand that had set up residence on the girl’s lower back.

 

Mikasa almost frowns before she realises that this is part of the act. This is the trap to lure in interest. She wants to turn and get a good look at whatever sorry soul is about to buy them a drink, but she doesn’t. Just a minute later, one of the waitresses leans over the far end of the bar to say something to the bartender. His eyes flash to the corner, about where Sasha had been looking, and then to the pair of girls sitting side by side. Another minute after that, he sets a martini glass filled with a fruity looking concoction and two straws in front of Mikasa and Sasha. The bartender looks between the two of them like he’s seen this a thousand times, but he doesn’t say anything, and goes back to what he’d been doing. 

 

The tequila is burning a hole through Mikasa’s stomach lining, already thinned by her anxiety leading up to tonight, and she doesn’t want to drink anything else. 

 

“It’s working already!” Sasha whispers excitedly. She takes the glass by the stem and holds it up, looking over her shoulder at whoever bought it for them, and makes a toasting motion before wrapping her lips around one of the straws. She takes a modest sip, and then turns her deadly gaze onto her partner in crime expectantly. Mikasa dips her head forward, and for a divine moment, she and Sasha are sipping from it at the same time.

 

Mikasa pulls away first, suddenly feeling a little less nervous. Sasha doesn’t drain the glass immediately like she had done to the cheap margarita. When she puts it down, it’s still just over half-full. Playfully, Sasha leans into Mikasa and whispers, “It wouldn't hurt if you got a little handsy.” 

 

The Ackerman girl is taken aback for just a moment and then she recovers. She wants to touch Sasha, to leave invisible trails from her fingers up and down the girl’s legs, but she's not at that fearless point yet. The alcohol needs just a little longer to soak in. 

 

That’s apparently not good enough for Sasha. She settles a possessive palm on Mikasa’s thigh, toying with the chiffon shift where it sits. At first, Mikasa’s reaction is to pull away, but she relaxes into the touch, scooting on her stool until her knees bump into her roommate’s. They both have cool skin thanks to the vicious Texas spring’s need for constant air conditioning, but a few rubs of the patellas makes enough friction for the contact to feel warm. 

 

It’s like a switch is flipped in her brain. The nervous energy empties out of Mikasa’s body and vanishes. Her stomach stops flopping and she feels  _ happy _ . 

 

“Hey,” she murmurs. Mikasa tucks her knees with Sasha’s like meshing gear cogs, and leans in. Sasha smirks at her and meets her halfway. It’s not a divine moment filled with clarity and sparks. Their lips touch, sweet and chaste, and then they pull back, although they leave their knees entwined. 

 

“It’s already hitting you, isn’t it?” Sasha eyes her curiously, lifting one hand to push the hair back from Mikasa’s forehead. “How are you so impossibly lightweight?”

 

Mikasa shrugs. “I’m sure there’s a variety of factors.”

 

Sasha lifts the fruity cocktail and drains it. When she passes it back to the bartender, she tells him, “Levi, I think I’ll be good without anymore ice for the rest of the night.”

 

“We aren’t one a first-name basis,” he snaps as he cleans glasses and puts them back where they belong.

 

Sasha doesn’t pay attention to him. She tilts into Mikasa, snatching up a surprise kiss before pulling back with a rather triumphant looking grin on her face. That’s two kisses now, and both lack the ever-elusive ‘fireworks’ feeling, but they still feel good. It feels good to kiss Sasha. Mikasa decides, then, that whatever happens tonight will happen, and she’s going to go with the flow. If there’s going to be a complicated fall-out tomorrow, then that’s  _ tomorrow-Mikasa _ ’s problem. Right now, she’s got an impatient warmth in her gut, and she knows she is exactly where Sasha wants her for their  _ show. _

 

For ten minutes, they share whispers in close quarters and trade off innocent, little pecks. The bartender, Levi, doesn’t comment when he sets down a pair of tall glasses filled with a mix of liquids that resemble a sunset. Mikasa doesn’t know cocktails like Sasha does; she simply takes a modest sip before passing it to her roommate to let her drink it. It’s something too strong for her.

 

Sasha has no problem with it though. She doesn’t guzzle, but she doesn’t nurse the twin drinks either. It’s almost surreal, watching her pack away that much alcohol and show no outward signs. 

 

Halfway through the second glass, Sasha’s hand darts out and catches Mikasa by the back of the neck, and she finds herself hauled forward into Sasha’s mouth. She’s expecting another of their chaste kisses, but that’s not what she gets.

 

A tongue pushes into her mouth when she gasps in surprise at Sasha’s sudden intrusion. She settles herself with two hands on her own thighs for balance and lets her mouth get explored. It’s funny. Mikasa is absolutely sober-- there’s only enough alcohol in her to smooth off the sharp edges-- but she can’t seem to gain control of herself. She feels hot, so blissfully hot, but also frozen in place because  _ is Sasha licking the roof of her mouth?  _ All she can do is stare with wide, wondrous eyes.

 

Levi clears this throat but Sasha doesn’t stop. She skates her tongue over Mikasa’s and then opens her eyes, locking their gazes.

 

_ Oh. _

 

The brunette looks fierce and hungry but totally in control of herself. Mikasa can almost see the gears as they turn in her head before Sasha is driving her tongue so far down Mikasa’s throat that her eyelids flutter and her eyes roll back. It’s a small move of surrender but it’s all Sasha needs as Mikasa’s head lolls, kept in place only by the hand secure on her nape. 

 

Sasha releases her mouth and then latches onto the soft underside of Mikasa’s jaw with her teeth. Mikasa gasps and Levi clears his throat again, more forcefully. Sasha withdraws. 

 

“No sex on my bar,” Levi hisses. “That shit’s unhygienic.”

 

His words go ignored by Sasha. She lays her free hand on Mikasa’s thigh and nudges it. “Spread your legs.”

 

Mikasa is still neckless and pliant, so she obediently does what she’s told. Sasha slides from her barstool and into the space left open between Mikasa’s knees, which her hands grip and give a light squeeze. Confidently, she seizes Mikasa in a kiss that has someone in the bar giving a long and loud whistle, humility to which she tries to pull away and would succeed if Sasha’s hands weren't burying themselves in the finer hairs at the base of Mikasa’s skull. So, she relaxes into it. 

 

Besides, it's amazing kissing Sasha like this. It's sloppy and disgusting, but it's honest. Sasha is not some well-mannered, put-together young lady, so naturally she doesn't kiss like that either. 

 

Levi knocks on the wood, hard enough that Mikasa thinks he’ll have a bloody knuckle or two, and points toward that corner of the bar that Sasha had been gesturing to earlier. “If you’re going turn him down, tell me now so I can make sure he pays his tab first.”

 

“Get your money, then, shorty,” Mikasa says, surprising even herself, and pulls her roommate back in for more. Sasha tastes like alcohol and overly sweet cocktails and it’s getting Mikasa drunk on lust. Every so often, Sasha pulls away to fill herself with more booze as it rolls in-- that’s why they’re here after all, isn’t it?-- but she always comes back to Mikasa’s mouth. It’s not about trying out Sasha’s new trick anymore. It’s honest.

 

“I’m not pretending anymore,” Sasha blurts out, her lips still against Mikasa’s as she speaks. She doesn’t wait for an answer as she catches another sloppy kiss, biting at her partner’s bottom lip and tugging it. Her hands move from Mikasa’s knees where they’ve been kneading. “God, Mika, you know I love you. Fuck, I wanna fuck you. I wanna fuck you, Mikasa.”

 

The harsh language is Mikasa’s only indicator that Sasha’s own sharp edges are smoothing over. She usually speaks in a fluid drawl, that twang that alludes to the countryside. Now, though, she sounds so staccato. Each syllable is a desperate and wanton sound, separate like drops from stalactites in a cavern.  

 

The meaning filters in through Mikasa’s haze of lust when cold fingertips brush her inner thighs with a shared goal. She looks at Sasha and Sasha looks right back, and then those cold fingers are sneaking into her shorts and she gasps.

 

“Shh,” Sasha soothes, mouth heavy on Mikasa’s chin. She watches her, looking down her nose at the brunette, who smirks. It’s a devilish smirk, identical to the one that was on Sasha’s face the day she walked out of the supermarket with a package of unpurchased deli meat under her elbow. 

 

In her peripherals, Mikasa can see that Levi is concerned with patrons other than them. For the first time that night, she looks into the corner for their spector, whoever it is buying them drinks. He’s not bad looking, average size with slender features, and ashy blonde hair. As soon as she finds him at his booth, watching them intently over the rim of his stange, Mikasa shivers. It travels from her toes, up her spine, and her head falls back unbidden because Sasha’s slipping her digits inside of Mikasa’s panties. Her attention is pulled back to the girl in front of her.

 

“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Sasha asks, as if she hadn’t, just a moment prior, told Mikasa that she wanted to fuck her. 

 

Mikasa shakes her head. “I don’t think there’s room in our bed for three.”

 

“Ah.” Sasha snags her into another nibbling kiss, and Mikasa forgets where Sasha’s hands are until a finger abruptly pushes itself inside of her sex. Sasha eagerly swallows up the curse, hoping to keep Levi’s attention off them, lest he see what’s going on under the cover of Mikasa’s flowery shift and toss them out. “Shhh.”

 

It takes most of her concentration to nod and pretend that there isn’t a thumbnail scratching against her clitoris. Mikasa manages, though, to ask through clinched teeth, “Sasha… are--  _ ahh… _ are we really going to fuck?”

 

“Why not?” It doesn’t sound as nonchalant as Mikasa thinks it was meant to. It sounds like Sasha is nervous that she’ll be turned down. 

 

“I’ve wanted to for so long now.” Mikasa’s hips roll of their own accord, and she shivers again. A part of her brain can’t believe this is happening and she’s sober. She must be drunk. How else is she sitting at a bar with her best friend, getting fingered casually as said best friend guzzles free booze because some pervert is willing to pay to watch them get inappropriate? 

 

“How long?” Sasha dares, and pulls her hand from Mikasa’s shorts. She licks each of her fingers clean with a teasing glance at their benefactor. Mikasa looks over at him, too, and he is slack-jawed, his half-full stange forgotten in his grasp. Idly, she hopes that Levi got the guy to pay his tab because he is in for one hell of a let-down.

 

“Since I got the pictures of us at senior prom in the mail last year.” It’s safe in her photo album at her parents’ house. She and Sasha had matched in colour, but wore different styles. Even though they didn’t have male dates, they decided to take a cheesy picture together, posed like all their acquaintances had with their lovers. Mikasa had her arms wrapped around Sasha from behind, their hands clasped together on the brunette’s front, with the cliche “ _ A Night to Remember _ ” caption in a swirling banner at their feet. 

 

“Since ninth grade,” Sasha replies, and it hits Mikasa like a ton of bricks.  _ That long.  _ It’s like she can suddenly see their relationship clearly; past, present, and future. She wants to reach out and claim it.

 

Mikasa digs the fiver from her back pocket and tosses it on the counter. Levi looks over and raises his eyebrow before he takes the crumpled up bill and runs it over the edge of the countertop to rid it of wrinkles. He turns around to cash out their miniscule tab, and Mikasa makes a break for it. Sasha’s right behind her, and they’re out of the bar before Levi can turn back around. He can keep the few bucks.

 

The night air is refreshing, if just a little warm, but it’s cleanly invigorating. They stop running around the corner, and look at each other, both smiling. 

 

It’s like they’re in sync. They meet in the middle for a kiss, something sweet and cherishing. No one is watching and there’s nothing to gain, and it conveys the contentedness they feel with one another. Mikasa frames Sasha’s face with her hands and presses their foreheads together. 

 

“I love you.” They’ve said it too many times to count, in so many other contexts, but this is a first. This isn’t a reaffirmation of their friendship. This is  _ I love you, _ the way old, familiar lovers say it, with all its addendums from a long and established relationship. 

 

“I love you, too.” Sasha bumps their noses, seeking another kiss, and she gets it. Sasha always gets what she wants. 

 

They walk home, Mikasa leading. Sasha is behind her, arms around Mikasa’s shoulders, her back pressed to Sasha’s bosom, Sasha’s face buried in the back of her neck. Their steps are mostly synchronised, and Mikasa’s heel only gets clipped a few times.

 

The apartment looks exactly the same as when they left an hour ago, but it feels so odd. She loves Sasha, Sasha loves her, and they’re about to become lovers. It’s surreal. 

 

“I’m gonna make some coffee.” Mikasa feels a little lost, a little floaty. This is real. This is happening. Sasha has wanted her all along-- longer than Mikasa has unknowing reciprocated. They’ve been pining mutually for a year, believing their feelings to be one-sided. This is real. Fuck, it's  _ real.  _ It's happening. 

 

Mikasa is stumbling with the coffee maker when she hears Sasha enter the kitchen a minute later. She looks over her shoulder, about to say, “It’ll be ready in a minute,” but she only lets out an exasperated, surprised yelp.

 

Sasha is naked. It’s not like Mikasa hasn’t seen it a hundred times before, but knowing that Sasha’s naked because they’re going to  _ fuck _ has her heart beating out of her chest like a steel drum. The brunette saunters over to her and she faces the coffee maker again to hide her burning cheeks.

 

“I don’t have anything clever to say.” Sasha fingers the hem of the Ackerman girl’s shift before she tugs it up. Mikasa lets her take it off, raising her arms so that it can pass over her head. Hot hands travel down her sides and meet at the button of her jean shorts, undoing them and wiggling them down Mikasa’s hips. She kicks off her shoes and then steps out of the jeans and suddenly the room feels too warm. 

 

Sasha presses in close to her back, and Mikasa leans her head back so that it rests on Sasha’s shoulder. Both of their hearts are beating wildly as they embrace. It’s like watching an approaching storm, the adrenaline of the fight-or-flight response thick and saturating.

 

Then, Sasha’s left hand grips the jut of Mikasa’s hip bone. Her right comes across Mikasa’s belly and slithers into her underwear like it owns her, unafraid and courageous in its exploration. Sasha cups Mikasa’s sex, her palm grinding down as she does, and Mikasa goes weak in the knees. She grips the counter but that doesn’t save her from sinking down onto her knees.

 

Sasha sinks with her, using the transition to her advantage. She separates Mikasa’s thighs with one of her knees, spreading them widely by the time they land on the linoleum together. Mikasa’s head is still thrown back, and now she’s gasping like it’s going out of fashion. It’s embarrassing.

 

Her back arches when two fingers slide into her easily, and a low moan reverberates from her throat. Sasha hooks her fingers in thorough strokes, and whispers into Mikasa’s ear, “I’m your first.” When Mikasa nods fervently, Sasha chuckles. “You’re mine, too.”

 

If this could get any more intimate, then Sasha’s admission does the trick. Mikasa, amidst her gasps and hip rolling, manages to stutter out, “But… you and… Connie…?”

 

She can feel the other girl shake her head, and Mikasa sighs down onto Sasha’s hand, relieved for some unknown reason. After that, the world ceases to be anything other than her and Sasha, Sasha’s fingers as they stroke the inside of her until Mikasa is grinding in time zealously, the pent up frustrations from the evening pushing her to climax quickly. She’s too loud, too raw, too honest in her pleasure, she thinks, but Sasha just kisses her shoulder and works her through it. Mikasa’s knuckles are white on the counter’s edge above them.

 

At some point, they take their fooling around to their bed, and after a comprehensive study of one another's bodies, like and dislikes, and sensitive spots, they lay in an exhausted tangle. Sasha’s head rests on Mikasa’s abdomen, and Mikasa is running her fingers through her hair while they talk in low tones about the future they want to build for themselves.

 

_ Yeah _ , Mikasa thinks. She’ll follow Sasha to the ends of the Earth.


End file.
